


The perfect husband

by orphan_account



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 19:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20158705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A handful of drabbles on why Valery is the perfect husband (at least, according to Ulana Khomyuk)





	The perfect husband

**Author's Note:**

> HBO characters used for entertainment purposes only.

1.

Like a scurrying mouse, Ulana noticed that Valery kept darting back and forth between the kitchen and the bathroom, huffing and muttering under his breath. Normally, she would have simply ignored it. She attempted to do such at the moment, burying her nose back in the newspaper, pausing briefly to take a sip of her cooling tea. He was always going on about something, so this scenario was not at all unusual. However, as she noticed a few more swift trips back and forth she realised it wasn’t entirely the common occurrence of Valery fussing over something inconsequential, but rather, that something out of the ordinary was indeed going on.

  
— Valera, what’s wrong? Why are you making a trench in our hardwood floor running back and forth like that? It was expensive, you know.

  
Valery stopped in his tracks, feeling suddenly exposed. — Ah.. it’s nothing, Ulya. I’ve got it.

  
— Got what?— Ulana inquired, arching an eyebrow. 

  
Silence. A beat. A nervous side glance. Finally, a reply, — Ah... do we have, um, a plunger, and some cleaning supplies? I couldn’t find any in the kitchen cabinets, — and an escape into the kitchen.

  
She got up and followed him. — Valery, what did you do?

  
The smell then told her. 

  
— I’m sorry Ulya! I don’t know how it happened!— Valery cried, his voice muffled from under the sink, where he was frantically rummaging. Ulana debated whether to go after him or see the evidence for herself, but decided against it, instead going straight for the laundry room, to retrieve the things Valery was so desperately looking for in all the wrong places.  
  
  
— Top shelf of the laundry room is the bleach and rags. The plunger is by the washing machine. I’ve told you a million times, Valera!— she cried as she grabbed those, and a bucket, and headed towards their bathroom, Valery right on her heel. 

  
— Holy shit! — she just had to say. 

  
— It’s not all mine! — Valery cried defensively while Ulana observed the toxic waste overflowing from the toilet and spilling all over the floor. — I keep telling you to stop flushing the toilet paper, but you never listen to me! 

  
— I can’t always put it in the basket! Especially on my period!

  
— Is _that_ what’s coming out as well? I think I’m gonna be sick,— Valery grabbed the door frame dramatically, attempting to settle his increasing queasiness. 

  
Ulana herself struggled to “stay afloat” the situation and not explode in violent frustration at Valery or add to the disgusting mess on her bathroom floor. After fighting back a wave of nausea and anger, she remembered where the tap for the water flow to the toilet was and reached her hand to the back of the toilet to close it. The water stopped, but there was still a mess on the floor that needed cleaning up. She side-eyed Valery, who looked at her incredulously as if to say you want me to do what?

  
— You did this, you clean it up,— she declared, putting the bucket and the cleaning supplies in his hands.

  
— Half this mess if yours too, Ulya. This is hardly fair.

  
— In sickness and in health, _moj milyi_. You vowed to share everything, need I remind you.— She placed a small kiss on his nose, which soothed his sulking... slightly. He grunted in agreement and sighed, but was not above giving her a full pout as he rolled up his sleeves to begin to tackle the disgusting task at hand.

  
Despite the disaster, Ulana walked out of the bathroom and the stinking mess back to her tea and news, with a small smile on her lips.  
  


  
  
2\.   
  
— That was delicious, _daragaya_! Thank you so much.— Valery kissed Ulana in gratitude after wiping his mouth gleefully. 

  
— You’re welcome, _milyi_. I’m glad you liked it so much. It’s been a while since I tried that recipe. I was worried I’d mess it up.— She gave him a worried glance, but he eased her with a hand over hers. 

  
— It was superb. Thank you again. And do not worry about the dishes. I’ll take care of it.— he offered, making her smile and sigh in contentment. 

  
They stayed seated at the kitchen table, enjoying each other’s company for a while and eventually erupting into snickers and laughs at being so full neither could get up. Valery got to his feet after the laughing fit died down and helped his wife up as well. Ulana kissed him once more for being so gallant as to let her put her feet up to the telly while he minded the washing up of it all. 

  
She was quite tired, having spent most of that Sunday afternoon looking over the recipe, chopping things and stirring them in the large, black iron pot. It had been worth it, though. It has been her best batch of borsch ever, if she said so herself. 

  
She hadn’t noticed she had drifted off to sleep for a bit until Valery came to join her, settling by her side on the soft bed. With a low sigh, he arranged himself, putting his arm around her, and placing soft kisses on her head. 

  
— All done!— he announced happily. — Sorry I took so long.

  
— It’s alright. I hadn’t noticed but you did kind of take long. I must have fallen asleep.— she muttered sleepily. 

  
— Yes, I’m sorry. I wanted to join you earlier, but scrubbing that pot surely took a while!

  
— Oh I see…— Ulana replied sleepily. She let out a soft yawn. 

  
And then a loud cry.

  
— Wait. You scrubbed the pot?

  
— Well, yes. Why?

  
— You SCRUBBED… my CAST IRON POT?

  
Valery looked at her as if she’d grown an extra pair of heads. — Yes, dear. That is what one does when a pot is dirty, is that not?

  
While Ulana hyperventilated, Valery continued. — It was incredibly thick with grime! I had to scrub for a good 20 minutes straight! It looked as if you’ve never cleaned it. I though it was funny, because you always on me about being clean, but now I’ve got something on you!— he pecked her on her nose, but Ulana was too livid to notice.

  
— You. scrubbed. my. cast. iron. pot… that hadn’t been scrubbed since my grandmother used it?

  
— Why are you so upset? I thought you wanted me to do the dishes?— Valery asked, looking like an innocent schoolboy.

  
— I think I never want you to do the dishes again,— Ulana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. It wasn’t his fault; she had never explained, but the anger would still take a while to dissipate. Valery just looked at her with a mix of bewilderment and slight fear, but overall relieved at the prospect of not having to do dishes anymore. 

  
  
3\.   
  
— Valera, why are my panties blue?

  
— Uh…. because you like blue?

  
Ulana breathed in deeply. She tried again. 

  
— That’s true. But these were initially white. And now, there’s blue splotches all over them. And all over my bras, and blouses that were originally white. — She held the underwear up, for exposition.

  
Valery stopped his typing and finally turned to look at Ulana, and the pair of rather large panties (not her sexiest pair) for him to see as evidence. Upon noticing he still wasn’t making the connection, she elaborated. — You put your load in with mine, right?

  
— Well, yes. You told me to do so. To save water, if I remember correctly. 

  
— Did you separate them?

  
A blank stare. — Separate the loads? I just told you I put them in together. 

  
— Separate _the colours_.

  
Another blank stare. 

  
— Oh. — And a realisation. 

  
Ulana sighed, and glanced back and forth, at the pair of old panties in her hands, and at her clueless husband. — You know what? I need nicer panties anyways. I’ll be back in a while. There’s casserole in the refrigerator if you get hungry. Make sure to feed Sasha too. 

  
Ulana grabbed her purse, pet the cat and waked out the door before Valery could finish saying, — Yes, and sorry Ulya!  
  
  
  
4\. 

  
Ulana groaned, slumped next to the toilet, after having thrown up (yet again) that evening, utterly exhausted and hot. Her entire body felt on fire, so much so, she had said fuck it and taken off her clothes, remaining in her undershirt and panties. The cool of the floor tiles felt heavenly. If only she could enjoy it more, but her head felt split open and her nose would not stop dripping all over herself. And then, another wave, and another round of puking. There was barely anything coming out now, but her body insisted on expelling everything, no matter the cost.

  
The cost being Valery missing work for the last three days in favour of staying home to take care of her. 

  
— Why don’t you go to bed, Valery? You have a lecture tomorrow early. — Ulana insisted. Valery just shrugged and squatted next to her with a wet cloth, and wiped her mouth. 

  
— I’m not going,— he let her know. He lifted his hand and wiped away the wet clumps of hair that clung to her forehead. — I’m staying here. Your fever hasn’t broken, and I’m starting to worry. I know when I cook it isn’t so great, but my food has never made you this ill.— He tried a joke in hopes of lifting her spirits, but Ulana felt far to weak to amuse him with the usual laugh. 

  
— It wasn’t the food, Valera, you know that. The bug has been going around. Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t caught it yet. 

  
— I’m the superior specimen. You yourself have always said I’m unique amongst my own.

  
— Har har. Ugh, please help me up.

  
Valery hooked an arm under hers and shifted his weight to haul her up to her feet. When Ulana could stand, she moved towards the faucet, opened it, and splashed water all over her face. — I’m burning up like a wayward reactor!— she tried at a joke herself.

  
Valery gave her a small chuckle. — Then you need coolant: I’m going to run you a bath. I need to get your temperature down. If it’s not down by morning, I’m taking you to the hospital.

  
— I don’t want to go to the hospital,— Ulana refuted.

  
— Well that’s a shame, — Valery said, as he opened the water tap and began to fill the bathtub. — Because you’re going anyways, whether you want to or not. If your fever doesn’t come down, that is.

  
Ulana arched an eyebrow in surprise at Valery’s defiance, though secretly amused (and slightly turned on), but she could not feel the pleasant arousal properly underneath waves of nausea, clogged sinuses, body chills and radiating pain all over her joints. Deciding on surrender, she sat quietly on the toilet while Valery prepared everything for the bath: he added some eucalyptus oil to the water, giving it a pleasant, minty-woody fragrance, and pulled out the fluffiest towels from the linen cabinet. He disappeared a moment to the bedroom to retrieve Ulana’s favourite nightgown (the very, very old one, whose fabric was so washed and worn it had almost become translucent), a pair of fresh panties (one of the new ones she’d recently bought herself, after Valery’s fiasco with the laundry), and finally, an ice pack from the fridge, for her head. 

  
— It’s ready, love,— he announced, closing the tap. Ulana stood up to allowed him to undress her and help her into the hot water. 

  
— Ohhhhh,— she moaned, a bit from the pain of the scalding water and from the pleasure of the relaxing warmth on her muscles. She stretched her legs to the end of the tub, and rested her head on a stack of folded hand towels Valery had strategically placed. 

  
— I’ll be right back, — he said, leaving the bathroom for a while. Ulana nodded, and closed her eyes, breathing in the eucalyptus and letting it massage her lungs. 

  
The fresh warm smells brought back a vivid memory of a pine forest, outside the limits of Pripyat, on the border between Ukraine and Belarus. Of the road that led back to Minsk, that she had once taken in the opposite direction, to get to Chernobyl to help avert a disaster. She arrived at what felt like a fated meeting, and she had not been the same since. So many things had happened since (their wedding being one of them), but the scent reminded her of that morning, where on pure impulse she jumped in her poor, beaten-up Volga and made the drive. She felt rather proud of herself to have heeded such a reckless impulse. 

  
The wooden fresh smell also reminded her of another morning: that of her wedding. It had been in springtime, at her parent’s dacha in the countryside. The smell of wet earth, cow dung and the cacophony of hens and roosters filled the air. A small, but warm gathering, and a lot of delicious food and drink from the fresh vegetables and fruit of their garden. A delightful event that was soon followed by many delightful evenings and days in Minsk, that continue ever since. 

  
The sound of Valery’s feet shuffling back into the bathroom broke the reverie of her thoughts, and she opened her eyes. He stood next to the tub, holding a mug in a hand and a small, glass jar in the other. 

  
— I made you some wild raspberry leaf tea. It has some ginger and honey in it. My mother always used to give it to me when I had the flu. I think it will help.— he explained, handing her the mug. She inhaled deeply, trying to catch the smells through the wall of mucus blocking her sinuses. She managed to catch a little of the ginger in the concoction.

  
— What’s that?— she asked about the jar. Valery looked at it, and explained. — It’s menthol. For your chest. Now let me.

  
He made himself comfortable on the side of the tub, and put the little jar on an open space on the ledge. He then methodically rolled up his sleeves (something Ulana adored to observe), and took back the jar in his hands. Then, opening it, he dipped a finger in it and scooped out a generous amount. He slathered if over his hands, and then moved towards Ulana to press them softly but firmly over her exposed chest. 

  
— Don’t worry, I will behave! — He smiled. — I know you’re not in the mood whatsoever. Though I have to admit, this is motivation for me to make you better quickly! 

  
— Oh Valery, how can you think of sex at a time like this? I’m sick! I look hideous, and you just saw me puke my guts out. Repeatedly. — Ulana complained, but she returned his small smile. 

  
— Ulanochka... if only you knew,— Valery sighed, and bent down a little to place a light kiss on the top of her head, — that you could never look hideous to me. No matter what you look like. That is not why I love you. 

  
Ulana felt her chest squeeze tight, and a sigh of contentment escaped her. — Valera, you dolt. I love you so much, — she said, beaming up at him. 

  
— I know,— he replied, giving her another wink, making her give him a little nudge in light teasing. — Now put this in your mouth,— he said, and before Ulana could complain, he stuck the thermometer in it. 

  
— Well, look at that. It’s going down. I guess no hospital for you tomorrow. I’m good at this, aren’t I?

  
Ulana looked at him from below in the bathtub. His glasses were fogged up, and his hair wet with sweat and steam. He had bags under his eyes, as he hadn’t really slept for as long as her. His shirt was sweaty and dirty, his belly protruded, and he looked exhausted. And yet, he was beaming. He looked so beautiful. 

  
— You are. You’re perfect, — she told him. 

**Author's Note:**

> \- The pet names they use ( daragaya, moj milyi) are typical terms of endearement in Russian. I found them in this link: https://www.lingq.com/blog/2018/06/01/russian-terms-of-endearment/  
\- Daragaya means "dear" and milyi "darling". "Moj" just means "my".  
\- Apologies if I used these wrong.


End file.
